Tempt Me
by Craft Rose
Summary: Harry and Hermione discuss their failed relationships over some wine in the Shrieking Shack. One thing leads to another, and...well, you'll find out. (Warning: Explicit Sexual Content).


Harry placed his arm around Hermione, brushing the hair from her face as she blinked away her tears. It had been a long night, filled with shouting and crying and arguing and the whole nine yards. There was nothing in the world he could do to erase her pain, but he did know how to soothe it. The young man leaned her head against his chest, as they sat in front of the roaring fireplace, and combed her long, curly, chocolate brown locks with as much care and comfort he could muster.

There were tiny ripples that traveled through her body to his, each and every time she cried. It was strange how the tables had turned. First, it had been Harry to go through heartbreak, on the night Ginny had left him for another man. It was now Hermione's turn, except this time things were complicated. Both his best friends were involved, but Harry could only sympathize for one.

Hermione tilted her head up, wiping away the remaining tears with the back of her hand. "I – I should go to bed."

"Now?" Harry asked, glancing out the window. It was dark out, and although the grounds were safe, he couldn't bear the idea of sending her out past midnight. "I think you should stay."

"I don't know…" she shrugged, stifling some more sobs. "I would hate to invade your space any longer."

"Invade?" he repeated, throwing her a gentle smile. "Impossible. You're always welcome here. You know that." Harry lifted himself from the rug and brushed the wrinkles from his trousers. "Plus, you shouldn't be alone tonight. I'll get us some Butterbeer and we can talk. How does that sound?"

Hermione couldn't help but grin. She nodded her head, and waiting patiently for her best friend to return. They were currently hiding away in the remains of the Shrieking Shack, obviously past hours. It was Harry's unofficial thinking spot, when the world just wouldn't give him a break. It was the only place he knew he could be alone, and that night he had invited Hermione to join him. She hadn't been to the Shrieking Shack since her Third Year, when they uncovered the secret behind the place, and although Harry had spruced the place up a bit…it was still sort of…gloomy.

"Erm – I couldn't find anymore Butterbeer," Harry explained, returning with one dusty bottle of wine. "But I did find this in one of the cupboards." He held it up, uncertain. "In the mood?"

She had never consumed alcohol in her life, and had no plans of starting that night. "I think I'll be fine," Hermione smiled. "Thanks, anyway."

Harry shrugged, setting the bottle down on the coffee table and finding his spot beside her on the rug. They were seated directly in front of the fireplace, and every so often they got lost in the tiny, flickering embers, but it was easy to find their way back to one another. It always had been.

"Can I ask you something?" Harry questioned.

Hermione turned her attention to the side, facing him. "Of course."

"How did he do it? How did he break up with you?"

"Oh." The brunette glanced away, to the floor. "It – It's funny you ask because…well…he didn't."

Harry arched an eyebrow. "You're still together?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, we aren't. I – I broke up with him."

"Oh."

There was an awkward silence that followed. Given the reaction Harry had received earlier, in the Common Room, when he asked Hermione what was bothering her, he had assumed Ron had ended things. But that clearly was not the case.

"I know you're wondering why I did it," Hermione finally said, breaking the silence. "I guess – I guess it was because, well, we were too…I don't even know."

Harry gave his friend a knowing look. "You don't have to know," he told her, matter-of-factly. "If you're unhappy with someone, that's reason enough to end things."

"That's the thing. I wasn't unhappy. I mean, I wasn't exactly happy but…he was good to me. I just – I couldn't be with him anymore." Hermione sighed, running both hands through her hair. "It breaks my heart to pieces, thinking of the look on his face when I told him, but I did it to save whatever chance of friendship me and him had left. I didn't want to resent him, and I knew if we continued, it would turn into bitter, distrustful, unbearable resentment."

"How did he react?"

Hermione shrunk a little, leaning back against the coffee table. "I'm sure you heard the shouting. Our argument lasted hours. He went from shocked, to angry, to furious, to…heartbroken." She wiped around her eyes as fresh tears began to fall. "Part of me wonders whether or not I'll wake up tomorrow and regret everything. He said this was it, that if we broke up now…we would never get back together."

Harry placed an arm around her, rubbing between her shoulder blades. "He's being irrational. I'm sure he'll start to think clearly soon enough. Just give him some time."

"We both know time isn't in abundance," Hermione added, giving him a sideways glance. "The war is approaching…"

"It is," Harry agreed. "But I know Ron, and I know he loves you too much to let something like this get in the way of how much he cares."

"It could have been amazing," she said in a quiet voice, practically thinking out loud. "I loved him – I still do – and our relationship was near perfect."

"Nothing is perfect," added the Chosen One, thinking about his own failed relationship.

Hermione nodded. "Especially when you're boyfriend thinks you're in love with his best friend."

There was one fleeting moment, in which Harry could have allowed that comment to slide on by, but he had done that too many times in the past. The young man fixed his gaze on Hermione and raised both eyebrows. "Did I hear you right?"

"You did," she confirmed, turning back and uncorking the bottle of wine with a quick wave of her wand. "Cheers."

Harry watched in awe, as his bookish best friend ingested a full mouth of wine, probably for the first time in her life, and couldn't help but laugh a little. "Easy there."

"Here. Don't make me drink alone." Hermione handed him the bottle and waited until he followed her lead before speaking. "Is it really that shocking?"

"Is what?" Harry asked, wiping the wine from his lips.

Hermione swiped it and took another gulp. "The fact that Ron thinks I'm into you," she clarified. "I love the bloke, but he has _got _to get over his best friend complex. It's insane. He's about two seconds away from challenging you to a pissing contest."

The Gryffindor Seeker chuckled, nearly choking on the wine. "You, Miss Granger, are officially drunk."

"Bollocks," she argued, throwing him a nasty look. "I don't feel at all inebriated."

"Is that so?" Harry asked, examining her face as though she were an ingredient about to be added to his cauldron. "You don't feel lightheaded? Drowsy? Inexplicably courageous?"

Hermione swallowed, placing the bottle on the floor and trying not to look directly into Harry's eyes. She knew her cover would be blown the moment it happened. It was like Harry's own lie detector, and it bugged her to no end.

"Maybe a little…less inhibited…but that's all," she answered. "What about you?"

"It hasn't hit me," Harry told her, retreating to his starting position. "But it will."

The pair of them sat there, swapping the bottle of wine and murmuring bits and pieces of broken conversation to one another, until the bottle was empty. Harry went for another sip, only to recover a few drops.

"Damned thing," he rolled it against the wall and sighed. "Are we pathetic?"

Hermione leaned her head back, stretching her neck all around. "Definitely."

Harry looked to her, yet again, and smiled. "Your cheeks are bright red."

"Must be drunk," she winked. "I suppose there's a first time for everything."

"_Hermione Granger. Head Girl. Pissed off her arse in Shrieking Shack with The Boy Who Lived_," Harry announced, using something of a news reporter voice. "Has a nice ring to it."

Hermione laughed. "I believe you are also drunk, Mr. Potter."

"Not my first time," he added, smug.

"Yeah?" The brunette focused on him. "Tell me about that time."

Harry gave her a look, as if to ask if she was being serious, and then proceeded to clear his throat. "Erm – well – if you must know – it was about three months ago. Christmas. The Burrow." Something in his expression changed, but it was short-lived. "I was up late, and I went downstairs to get something water, and there she was…sitting by herself."

"Ginny," Hermione guessed.

The young man continued. "I sat with her for a bit. There was some talking, about Quidditch or some homework, and then she kissed me." Harry swallowed hard. "I could taste alcohol on her breath – Firewhiskey – and I sort of panicked, but she wouldn't let me leave, not until I got drunk with her."

"Sounds about right," the Head Girl remarked, mostly to herself.

"I took the Firewhiskey she handed me, and I drank almost half of it before the feeling overtook me," he explained. "It was exciting in it's own way, doing that with her while everyone was asleep upstairs."

Hermione stared at him for a long awhile, before asking the real question that had been floating around in her mind. "Did you have sex?"

Harry cocked his head in her direction. "Wh – What?"

"Don't act so surprised," she teased. "It's a fair question."

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," he retorted cleverly, waiting until she nodded before finishing up his side of the events. "That night remains the furthest I've ever gone with any girl, but we didn't have sex. We just sort of…fondled a bit."

Hermione couldn't help but laugh. "The visuals are remarkable. I can imagine it now…Ginny stays up late and does everything she can to seduce her boyfriend, only to get a sloppy, drunken kiss and maybe a tit squeeze."

"You're mean when you're drunk," Harry frowned. "And what makes you think she was trying to seduce me?"

"Er – maybe because it's _you_." Hermione responded, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Think about it. I'll set the mood for you. _The threat of war is inching closer by the day_. _Ginny knows her boyfriend is in grave danger, and although she respects his boundaries and knows there are more important matters at stake, her adolescent mind can't help but wonder what it would be like to have him in the most intimate way._"

An alarming silence fell over Harry. He sat there, slightly uncomfortable, and scratched the back of his head. It was clear he had never thought about that night from Ginny's perspective, until then. "All right, all right." He took a deep breath, erasing the sudden onset of panic. "Your turn."

Hermione smiled, knowing that look of panic when she saw it. "I have never had sex with Ronald, or any other human being on the planet. Happy?"

"No, not really." Harry scrunched his mouth to the side. "I wanted a story."

"I'll give you one," she offered.

"I thought you didn't have sex."

"I didn't," Hermione confirmed. "In terms of intercourse, that is."

Harry's eyes went wide. "So…you…?"

"Maybe."

"I…I don't think I want a story, after all," Harry decided, glancing around the area. "I'll get some more wine."

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but he was out of the room before she could form her lips around the first syllable. His behavior had changed so drastically. It was suspicious, but she decided not to think anything of it. She figured it was probably just a mixture of unease and nausea from visuals of his best friends going down on each other.

Her mind drifted to that one fateful night, and she remembered the way it felt to have Ron's mouth where it had never been. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, practically fantasizing over the feeling until the sound of Harry's footsteps brought her back to reality.

"Was it you?" Harry asked, a little fidgety.

Hermione flashed him a look of confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"Was it you or was it him?" Harry asked again. "I mean – did you do it to him or did he do it to you?"

Her mouth gaped, and for the first time she couldn't find the truth. It was hanging on the edge of her tongue, completely frozen. "I – erm – It was –"

"Never mind," Harry interjected, pacing a bit before slumping down beside her and forcing a smile. "It's none of my business."

"Are you feeling well?" Hermione asked, reaching over to touch his forehead, only to gasp as he recoiled. "Harry, what's going on? Talk to me."

The young man avoided her prying eyes. Something was clearly bothering him. He lowered his head, ashamed. "I'm sorry," Harry apologized. "I reacted to that in the most immature, insensitive, in –"

"He did it to me," Hermione added swiftly. "It was during the summer. I – I was having a rough morning, and one thing led to another."

The colour returned to Harry's face. "You didn't have to tell me that."

"Don't worry about me," she assured him. "If there's one person I trust with information like that, it's you."

"Why do you think that is?"

The witch shrugged her shoulders. "You're…the best friend I've ever had. I have never had to question your confidence or loyalty. I just – I just know. It's, like, inherent in our friendship and it always has been."

Harry nodded along. "You're right," he exhaled. "I wouldn't have made it this far without you and that brain of yours."

She smiled. "I'm sure you would have done fine on your own."

"Do you ever think about what it would be like if we weren't friends?" Harry asked.

Hermione paused. "I – I don't know. I haven't, but now that you mention it…I guess I would be some sort of loner. Every friend I've made has been through you."

"That's not exactly what I meant."

She faced him. "Hmm?"

Harry took a deep breath. It looked as though he was gearing up for a class presentation or something equally nerve-wracking. "Have you ever thought about _us_?" he asked, putting extra emphasis on the last word. "As something other than best friends?"

There was a hitch in Hermione's throat. She couldn't quite speak. Her mind was buzzing. She calmly pushed down the apprehension and furthered the topic. "I know you aren't insinuating the topic of us being enemies, which leaves…"

His eyes had that starry look about them. She had only ever seen that look when he was about to play Quidditch, about to race through the clouds in search of the Golden Snitch. It was a mixture of fear and determination. It was Harry's signature look.

"I don't know," Hermione answered honestly. "I don't know what it would be like."

"Neither do I," he sighed. "I'm only asking because – because Ron isn't the only one who accused us of having a thing for each other."

"Ginny?" Hermione's mouth gaped wide open.

Harry nodded. "It was part of the reason she broke up with me. Her exact words were, _I sincerely hope you find it in yourself to love a girl even half as much as you love Hermione_."

The young woman blinked several times over, in quick succession. "I did not expect that of Ginny. I mean, Ron, yeah, but never Ginny."

"I know. I was floored." Harry rubbed the frustration from his features. "I'll never understand why everyone is so adamant about that subject."

Hermione leaned her head against his shoulder. "Sometimes…I think about it…about the things Ron would say." Her voice turned soft. "It always sounded so ludicrous, for him to question our friendship and turn our group into some sick love triangle…but…" She sighed. "I do love you, Harry."

She could feel the muscles in his shirt tighten. It took several seconds for him to release, and when he did he leaned his head over hers. "You know I love you, too."

"Yeah," Hermione breathed. "Best friends."

Harry contemplated his next words. "You make it sound like a death sentence," he said, in something of a whisper.

Hermione closed her eyes. She had cried many tears in her life, but none were as confusing as those of which she cried for Harry. It was the threat of losing him to the war that terrified her most. In that loss, she felt torn. Her body was dragged in opposite directions. She couldn't decide which was worse, losing him as a friend or losing the chance of something more.

She held back the tears, praying to Merlin that Harry wouldn't notice. It was probably just the wine, just a mixture of alcohol and vulnerability over her recent breakup. It can't have been anything else. It wasn't allowed. It wasn't in their cards. It never had been. It never would be.

"I told Ginny it was impossible," Harry said suddenly, placing his arm around her waist and holding her close. "I'll never find that girl, because she doesn't exist."

There was heat building around Hermione's face and neck, and lower. She could do nothing but blink, breathe and hope the moment would pass. It was all so abrupt. She had no time to think, no time to make sense of anything. But the physical reaction of her body was enough to answer even the most difficult questions.

Her hand slid perfectly into Harry's, as if on its own accord. She used the other to grab a handful of the rug, in an attempt to release some of the tension that had been building up all night.

"This is insane," Hermione finally said.

Harry raised her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips along her inner wrist. "Completely."

She inhaled, shakily, knowing this was the time to put her foot down and stop anything from happening, but the girl remained still. Her eyes fluttered shut, as Harry continued to kiss down her forearm, and then past her elbow, until their bodies turned to one another and he reached her shoulder. He waited a moment, a long moment, before pushing down the fabric of her cardigan. His lips found her bare collarbone, sending a rippling sensation through her body.

It was such a simple act, but it left her breathless. She couldn't think straight. Her surroundings blended together in a haze, and Hermione moved away from the coffee table, lowering onto the floor with Harry hovering over her.

There had always been an air of uncertainty with Ron. Hermione never quite knew if she wanted to do those things with her then-boyfriend. It was never a matter of pressure, just…confusion. She trusted him enough, but it was nothing compared to the trust she harboured for the Chosen One.

Harry held his weight on either side of her. Their mouths were millimeters apart. She could feel his breath on her skin, and the warmth of his body. It was ironic to think both of them had dismissed any such feelings for one another, but when the moment came, it was like a tidal wave. Nothing else mattered.

He kissed her.

She kissed back.

It was sweet, sensuous, soft and subtle. It was all those things, and still maintained the passion and intrigue of any other first kiss. There was only one difference. It was between Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. Their destiny was unraveling at the seams, with each second they sucked, licked, kissed, and tasted. It was more than a taste of the forbidden fruit. It was euphoric.

The space between her legs grew wider, giving him more leeway, and her hands found the buttons on his shirt. She carefully undid them, knowing what was underneath, but not in this context, not in this light, not in this position. Hermione broke away, just long enough to catch a glimpse of his bare torso as he shrugged his shirt off and carried his kiss to her neck. Her lips parted, and a breathless moan fought its way out.

"Stop me," Harry panted, grazing their bodies together. "_Stop me, damn it_."

Hermione arched her back and whimpered against his heat. "God, just do it already," she cried. "Get these clothes off of me."

The rate in which Harry practically tore off her cardigan, and then her camisole was lightning fast. There was a tiny shiver that traveled the length of her spine, the moment her bare abdomen touched air. But the shivers vanished, almost in an instant, as Harry kissed down her torso. His lips traveled from her mouth, past her bra, down her belly, to the rim of her jeans. He paused there, meeting eyes with her.

He didn't say anything, ask any question, but for some reason Hermione nodded, as if they spoke their own telepathic language. She felt adrenaline course through her veins, as Harry lifted her upright, on his lap and kissed her some more. His fingers toyed with the clasp on her bra. She thought to help him, until finally her breasts felt release, and her white, lacey bra was tossed to the side.

She had never exposed herself in this way, to anyone. Hermione gazed at him nervously, folding her arms over her bare chest.

"We don't have to do this," Harry told her, speaking softly and truthfully.

Hermione took several moments to calm her nerves. "I want to do this," she said, confident. "I've wanted to for a long time."

There wasn't much left to be said. Harry deepened their kiss and rubbed his hands up her sides, until curving them around her breasts. She was a perfect handful – not too big, not too small. The shivers were back, but they were good shivers, the kind of shivers that traveled from her head, down to the special place between her legs.

She bit her bottom lip, as Harry propped her up on the coffee table. He moved between her legs, and kept his eyes on her the entire time, whilst undoing the button on her jeans and carefully slipping them off. Hermione thanked the heavens that she remembered to wax her legs the night before, along with everything else. The last thing she wanted was for Harry to see just how unruly her hair was – and in how many places.

He hovered in the moment, enjoying the sight before him, and Hermione was no different. She got a proper look at him, at his muscles and overall structure, wondering how on Earth it was possible for anyone to have ever broken up with this scalding hot man.

Harry moved closer, kissing her flat belly and tracing his tongue down to her panties, where he tugged them off with his teeth. It was shocking to witness, given that he had no experience in the sex department, but as with most things, he was a natural.

Hermione closed her eyes, nervous and excited and scared and aroused. She knew this is what it was all boiling down to. Her breathing shallowed, and suddenly his mouth was on her, in the most perfect place imaginable. He kissed her there. He licked her there. He massaged her with his lips and tongue. He did everything at the right time, so well that the long string of airy moans coming from her mouth grew louder and louder and louder until Hermione pushed his head back.

Harry glanced up at her with confusion. His lips were swollen and wet. "Is something wrong? Am I not doing it right?"

"You're perfect," she breathed. "I just – I don't want _this_. I want you."

It took him a bit of time to understand what she meant, but when he did, he obliged. Harry lifted her from the coffee table and back on the floor. They kissed some more. She could taste herself on him. It wasn't a bad taste, just shocking. It was the strangest sensation, but Hermione knew she was ready for a different, far more powerful sensation.

She undid the button on Harry's trousers and pushed them down as far as she could from their missionary position. It was dark in the room, but Hermione could see his hardness underneath the fabric, and felt every part of her ache with desire.

Harry brought her mouth to his and pushed his trousers all the way off, along with his boxer briefs. There was heat between their bodies, of a different make, and both of them stared at one another with a mutual sense of fear and anticipation. Hermione spread her legs wider, immersing herself into the kiss and thankful for the way Harry brushed the hair from her forehead. It was the most subtle, unassuming action that he somehow managed to play off as romantic.

Coming from him, it was. That was Harry's vibe. He wasn't in it for the sex. He would have slept with Ginny that night if he were. But things were different with Harry. Things had always been different.

Hermione moaned into their kiss, feeling his length against her core, as he carefully rubbed her moisture onto himself. She grabbed a handful of the messy hair on his head and cried out in a pleasurable sort of agony, as he entered her. It was painful. It was extremely painful. It was so painful, she considered pushing him off and making a run for it, but as she opened her eyes and saw the way he was looking at her, with a blend of care, concern and tenderness, she remained still.

He was gentle. He was so gentle.

"I'm sorry for…hurting you…" Harry managed to choke out, already having broke out in a sweat despite their slow, gradual pace.

"It's okay," Hermione assured him. "Keep going. Keep doing this."

The pain had eventually lessened. It didn't disappear entirely, but Hermione was too overcome with the windstorm of pleasure that cascaded over her to care. Their mouths broke away from one another, and Harry thrust into her faster and harder. She could hear that slapping sound, each time their bodies met, laced into the sounds of their respective moans. It was all she could hear. It was all she could think about.

Her inhibitions had finally given away, and Hermione clawed at Harry's back, knowing she was close. It was more than she thought it would be. It was something she wanted to do again and again and again, but before that they had to get through the first time.

The whirling, heated, exhilarating tension in her core gathered, like a ball of otherworldly energy, and for a moment Hermione hovered in space and time, glancing down at herself and taking note of the obsessive, passionate, earth shattering arousal in her eyes. It was in that moment she realized this was supposed to happen, this had always been in their cards, this wasn't wrong and didn't go against nature. It was everything.

The next second went by in slow motion. Harry plunged into her, for what felt like first time every time, and inch by inch, an incredible, mind numbing, invigorating, orgasmic uproar surged through both of them, transporting them to a different universe, because their current universe was incapable of handling that much pleasure, between two people who couldn't possibly have deserved one another more.

**A/N: Thanks for reading! I wrote this in one go, so, be nice? lol. xo. **


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